Somewhere Along the Line
by musik577
Summary: Her past haunts her, it never wants to let go. She remembers her childhood, bitterly torn away from her, a distant memory. She remembers the countless people who had died at her red stained hands. But then, somewhere along the line, she remember how Clint Barton had saved her, put her back together. Somewhere along the line, she found herself. One shot. Clintasha. Natasha-centric.


**Hey there (: So… this is my second Avengers fic. This is almost a sister fic to my first, **_**Worth the Risk**_**, (yup, free advertisement xD) which was about Clint, so subsequently, this is about Natasha. This goes more in depth about her childhood and life before SHIELD, than my other fic. This is more about Natasha than about Natasha and Clint but… oh well (: Anyway, enjoy (:**

**Disclaimer: Doesn't own any assassins or superheroes. **

Her hand tightened against the smooth white sheets tangled around her. Her eyes snapped open, a vivid green blinking furiously while her heart beat raced in her ears. She tried to forget, to move on, but her past haunted her, it never wanted to let go. Her breathing was quiet but ragged, a rare show of vulnerability a stark contrast from her normal composure.

Suddenly, she felt a hand gently pry hers away from the sheets, entwining her fingers with theirs and not letting go. She looked up to find Clint beside her, his hand wrapped firmly around hers. She felt the corners of her mouth lift gently, flashing a silent thank-you before she leaned back in her pillow, closing her eyes now that she knew she was safe, that she was protected. The last thing she remembered before her vision dissolved into a hazy ray of darkness was a gentle hand brushing awsome loose red curls from her pale forehead, and a soft kiss, protecting her from whatever horrors lying in wait for her in her dreams.

* * *

Natalia Romanova was just a normal girl in Russia. She was a single child, living in the cold suburbs in Moscow, watching the snow fall past the window.

Her parents were typical Russian parents; her father an active and always beaming man, short brown hair sticking up in places while his vivid green eyes were focused and concentrated. He worked in the local computing company, accounting for this small business and providing a moderate income for their small family. Natalia's mother was beautiful yet terrifying, much like the woman Natalia was destined to become. Her sharp wit combined with her fiery red hair made her into a woman to be reckoned with.

But there was something that they knew felt was the center of their world.

Their daughter, Natalia Romanova.

She had grown from a gurgling baby to a mature 6 year old in an unbelievably fast time. She had inherited her parent's best traits; her father's sharp green eyes and her mother's beauty and fiery red hair. She was intelligent with a wit unlike any 6 year old they had ever met but also had a calm manner which was very rare amongst 6 year olds.

Even at the age of 6, Natalia Romanova was something to be reckoned with.

She went to the local school, played with other little girls her age, chattering excitedly while swinging a small Barbie doll around in her hands. She danced passionately, twirling gracefully in her white tutu, swaying gently to the music. She was close to her parents; every morning before she'd leave for school she'd gently trod into the kitchen and press her soft lips to her parent's forehead and muttering я тебя люблю, _I love you_ before smiling softly and walking out the door, her pink school bag swinging on her back.

However, on the morning of April 19th, it was the last time those 3 words were uttered from her mouth for many years.

She had arrived home on time and smiling, clutched in her small pink hand, still cold from the snow falling around her, a small piece of paper, another test with red ticks which she had aced at school.

She walked towards her house, her boots crunching on the snow. It fell softly, landing all around her, white specks colouring her bright red hair.

She stopped suddenly as the full house came into her view.

Her smile dropped from her face.

Her test fluttered onto the snow.

She gasped as she stared at her house, burning up in smoke. She gave an anguished cry, a sound a 6 year old should never have to make before sprinting towards the burning house.

Her muffled cries for her _mama_ and _papa_ echoed throughout the blazing house. A feeble sound from the burning living room was heard by the panicking 6 year old.

She ran in, and was met with a sight that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her mother and father were lying on the cold, wooden floor, a pool of blood surrounding them in a red halo. She cried out in terror and fell to her knees by her mother's side.

"Natalia, promise me," her mother had rasped, her red hair now the colour of the scarlet pool around her, "promise me you will never give up. Never, Natalia, never!" Her mother stared into her tear stricken eyes, clutching her small hand in her own.

Natalia nodded while her throat constricted and her mind tried to process what she was seeing.

Her mother lay back with a sigh.

"Good girl. Now, run Natalia, run! They are coming!" Her mother tried to push her daughter away from her, urging her to run. Natalia stood frozen, shocked into place.

"Natalia," her eyes snapped to the pale face of her father, "go." She stared into his eyes, their identical green eyes staring deep into each other.

She nodded once and ran for the door.

The echoes of their soft я тебя люблю, _I love you, _would stay with her forever.

She ran as fast as her little legs would allow. The snow crunched noisily under her feet while tears streamed down her face, her red hair flying around her, only reminding her of what she had seen moments before.

She saw them the moment they came out from the trees. All dark and evil, blood staining their black suits.

She ran faster, but she knew she was going to be taken.

She heard the thud as she landed painfully on the ground, crying out as her head struck the cold beneath her.

She noticed in terror, the black men walking towards her as the edge of her vision began to darken.

Before she could stop herself, she felt herself falling into blackness, falling into unconsciousness, fearing for whatever lay ahead for her.

The forgotten piece of paper fluttered in the wind, a small stamp from her school stamped in the corner of the crinkled piece of paper, her name _Natalia Romanova_ written neatly across the top.

The next day, all traces of a small red haired girl called Natalia Romanova disappeared from the school computers, the small 6 year old whisked away never to be returned again.

* * *

She woke up to a grey box of a room, the room she had drily referred to as her 'home'.

She stretched while pulling out her guns from under her mattress, strapping them to her utility belt while securing a knife around each thigh.

She was 16 now, 10 years since she woke up in an unfamiliar room, screaming as she repeatedly watched her parents die in a pool of blood around her as black, as blood stained men stole her away.

She was a different person now. She had a different name. _Natasha Romanoff_. A new life, taken so bitterly from her old life.

She walked silently out of her room, walking down the soundless halls, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

Suddenly a patter of footsteps cut through the perfect silence that Natasha often wallowed in. A scream echoed from a room in front of her, a high pitched scream from a young girl. She remained stoic, her face void of any emotion while in her stomach, she felt a heavy blow to her stomach as she suddenly remembered how _she_ had sat there, screaming her throat raw, how _her_ hands were covered with blood. Natasha now passed the room silently, flicking an eye towards the window where the scream had come from.

A young girl sat on the stiff metal chair, 7 years old at the most, bloody handprints smeared across her face as her blue eyes helplessly scanned the room for someone, _anyone_ to help her. And in that moment, that one moment where Natasha Romanoff glanced into the small room, the child had caught her eye.

The girl's eyes widened slightly, her small pink mouth opening in an 'o' as she stared directly into Natasha's vivd green ones. Only then did Natasha realize that this little girl, wearing only a torn dress, had curled red hair dangling around her head.

It was a bright red, the colour of blood.

The colour of her very own hair.

The girl said something so softly that Natasha couldn't hear it through the thick glass window separating them, but she read the girl's lips.

_Mama_.

Natalia stopped in shock. The girl had mistaken her for her mama? She turned back to the little girl who looked back at her desperately. The men in the black suit flicked their steel gazes towards her.

She reluctantly walked away, the stinging cries of _mama_ burning in her ears as she walked away.

Soon she arrived back at her room, not knowing how she had gotten there.

She sank to her knees, her head pressed hard against them, her red hair dangling in the edge of her vision. The image of the little girl, calling for her mama, haunted her.

She suddenly flashed to her own mother's last words. _Promise me you will never give up. Never, Natasha, never!_ Her mother had rasped, blood slowly draining from her, the light fading slowly in her eyes.

She had failed. She had not done what her mother's last request was. She had given up. She had lost hope in the world and she was now nothing but a shell, doing everything and anything she was told to do.

She had given up.

Once upon a time, when Natasha was freshly recruited, she had tried to escape at every possible chance.

During her first 5 years, Natalia Romanova had tried to escape over 500 times.

But each time she was dragged back, her hands bloody and lips bleeding, trembling as she awaited her punishment.

And then one day, she gave up.

She didn't see the point in it, the point in trying to escape. She had nowhere to go anyway, nothing to go to, so why try?

She had given up.

Natasha crushed her fingers together, desperate to try and imagine the last time she had held someone's hand, someone's love.

Once again, her mother's voice rang through her head. She remembered when she had been learning how to ride her bike, when she still wore pigtails and pink dresses and had fallen over in the haste of learning to ride. She had cried bitterly, rubbing a small hand over her scraped knee.

Her mother had leaned down towards her and spoke to her softly, her red hair falling in cascades around her. _When we fall Natasha, we get back up. We try again until we succeed. _She had stared into her mother's eyes and nodded once before grabbing onto the hand her mother offered her and jumped back onto the bike.

She learnt how to ride by the end of that day, many cuts and bruises later.

And now it was time to get back up.

…

24 hours later, the Red Room was in uproar. Their most successful recruit, the Black Widow aka Natasha Romanoff, had escaped, leaving not a trace of her anywhere. She had whisked out, left before a guard even batted an eyelash.

And also, within those 24 hours, a young girl, freshly recruited the night before, with bright red hair and sharp blue eyes also disappeared from the compound and appeared at a caring orphanage a mile from the Red Room.

Natasha Romanoff watched with a faint smile on her lips as the shivering young girl was ushered into the house, warm arms already wrapped around her.

But when this little girl turned around and scanned the shadows for her savior, Natasha Romanoff was already gone.

* * *

She was 18 now, 2 years since her mysterious escape from the Red Room.

At first, Natasha Romanoff just roamed. She travelled from one city to another, admiring the sunset, observing the tourists, tasting the food.

Then she began to realize that her money, which she had stolen in the first place, was running out.

And so, she had taken a small job with a large income.

An assassin.

She killed with ease, taking the money before leaving the city, not wanting to be the same city as her first victim.

Soon, she was a full time assassin.

She wasn't even sure herself how it happened, how she got caught in this blood staining business, how she got into a system so shockingly familiar to the one she desperately tried to forget.

But that soon became a distant thought, as soon her mind once again gave up, doing what her bosses said, whatever they said.

She killed people, she would never deny that fact. She had killed too many, too much, and her hands were stained red. Permanently.

But beneath her cold exterior, her never slipping façade, Natasha Romanoff, the girl who escaped from the Red Room, still lurked.

_That_ Natasha Romanoff cried at night, wishing on the stars that streaked past her window for innocence. For a life without this. For her hands to be clean.

_That_ Natasha Romanoff killed in the swiftest way possible, the most painless way she could find.

_That_ Natasha Romanoff tried to break free, but the Natasha Romanoff she had built to protect herself had taken over.

When she killed she was the _new_ Natasha Romanoff, cold and confident, with spots of the old seeping through.

After she killed, the old Natasha Romanoff emerged, shaking and uncertain, when the new would creep in and tell her to get it together.

And as a raging battle ensued inside her, she continued on her way.

She walked down the streets of Russia, sunglasses over her eyes, her red curls cascading down her back.

She noticed that the people at the market were less than usual, probably going to the new market down the road.

She noticed that they had put a new slide up in the children's playground in the neighborhood park.

And she also noticed a brown haired American man discreetly follow her on the rooftops.

She continued to walk, watching the windows of nearby shops as the man jumped gracefully from building to building, keeping behind her.

She decided it was time to disappear.

…

She emerged from the shabby little shop at the corner of the road, and slipped her sunglasses on.

She had found the man's hideout and had left him a little present.

And she hoped he liked it.

…

Her pleading eyes stared up into Natasha's cold green ones. For a moment, the woman thought she saw a flicker of emotion in the red head's eye, a flicker of regret.

She didn't even see the knife that plunged into her stomach.

A thud echoed in the silent warehouse.

Natasha stepped back softly, before turning towards the door. But before she could leave yet another murder scene, she turned and glanced back at the woman lying motionless on the floor.

As she slipped away, she couldn't push away the burning screams the woman had cried. _I have two kids! Please, they won't have any parents…._ Her screams echoed in her mind.

Somehow, she found herself outside the woman's door. Natasha stood silently, blinking back tears which threatened to spill before pushing a wad of notes, the money which she had earned for this particular murder, under the door.

She walked away, knowing that money could never replace the absence of a mother.

…

She knew he was following her, she could feel his eyes on her.

And so she knew.

Her time was up. It was time to go.

It had been building up in her for a while, this feeling which urged her to give up completely, to simply let go.

And now it had spilt over the edge.

She walked calmly into the alley, her thoughts jumbled but her intention clear.

She dropped to the floor and sunk her head into her hands.

It was over now.

She heard his soft foot-steps stop only steps before her.

Her face lifted to meet his, her lips firm and her eyes clear. She deserved this. She was ready to meet whatever faced her in the afterlife. If it meant an eternity of torture, so be it. She deserved this fate.

He stared back, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that the man standing before her was no more than a boy, like her.

And then he began to talk.

He talked about a place where Natasha would be safe, where she could help the _good guys_. Where she could help erase the red in her ledger.

She stared up to him, the brown haired boy with the clear blue eyes, as he stared down at her.

There was something about him that sparked a tiny ember of hope in her. Something about the soft voice which offered a new job, a new life.

She nodded once, before standing, and walking behind this man.

Maybe this time, Natasha Romanoff could do some good in this world, she could right her wrongs.

And most importantly, Natasha Romanoff had not given up.

* * *

She glanced at the sleeping figure beside her. She ran a pale hand through his brown hair, a small smile lurking around her lips.

Clint Barton had saved her, saved her and put her back together. He had helped wipe away some of the blood on her hands and had more than once helped her up when no one else would.

She had found a new home, one where she felt safe and she didn't feel the urge to flee.

She often woke to flashes of terror, of flashes of her past, but she knew now that the past was the past, and nothing but ghosts and shadows were waiting for her there.

Somewhere along the line, Natasha Romanoff had finally realized to look forward, not back.

Somewhere along the line, Natasha Romanoff had finally been saved by her Prince Charming.

Somewhere along the line, Natasha Romanoff had finally found herself.

**So, how was it? It went a little longer than expected, but that's alright (: **

**The 'present' I mentioned was in **_**Worth the Risk**_**, the spider and the note that said **_**your move**_** xD**

**Reviews makes me happyyyy (: **

**Thanks for reading (:**


End file.
